


Penance

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Series: The Atonement Cycle [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Brainwashing, M/M, Past Suicide Attempt, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 19:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1277911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake thinks over the reasoning that led to him ordering Avon to serve penance for his actions on Gauda Prime. It's not what Avon thinks, at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sentence](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/39151) by Hafren. 



> This is part two of seven of a multi-author collaboration done back in the day of the Blake's 7 adult mailing list.
> 
> I believe it stands alone, but would be better if read as the whole cycle.
> 
> Hafren, the author of the original intriguing story gave me permission to continue in Blake's point of view, the fic she'd written in Avon's point of view. Hafren wrote 1, 3 and 7. I wrote 2, 4, and 6. Nova wrote 5. The series has an eventual happy ending, but plenty of angst along the way.
> 
> Currently all of them can be found [ here.](http://www.liberated.org.uk/1138atonement.htm)
> 
> They were all printed in a zine, 'Tales from Space City 4', but I can't find that on line.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Blake conducted his normal nightly rituals and composed himself for sleep. It wasn't always easy, but it was necessary. He sighed. The problem was, what was necessary was seldom pleasant, or even bearable.

But he would bear it. He would do what had to be done, guided by the knowledge that it was the only way.

He rolled over and punched his pillow. He counted leaping herbivores. He got up and went to the small food-preparation area that was one of the many unwanted prerogatives of his position as leader of the base. A cup of warm milk with spices sometimes helped. The second swallow turned sour, as he thought of Avon. Blake had tasted the mush that was Avon's staple diet, as he had tested and approved all the conditions of Avon's existence. And today he had ordered the removal of the small 'luxury' of warmth, and the book.

He was rather savagely glad to take the book away. Avon had clung to it and built up a dream-world based on the fallacy of goodness being rewarded, of sacrifice being repaid with forgiveness. Of course that was the whole idea. In its way, that book was as insidious a piece of propaganda as anything the Federation had ever used to control its citizens. And he had ordered it for Avon, selected it from all the various versions available on Gauda Prime.

It was working, at least. That would justify everything, wouldn't it? Avon had felt something last night, and again this morning.

Carnell had promised it would work. Not that Blake trusted the man or his judgement, but under the circumstances, there hadn't seemed much to lose. Avon's suicide attempt had so nearly succeeded... Blake had only to close his eyes to see that scene again. So much blood splashed so vividly across the otherwise pristine computer room... Avon lying there, unconscious, but still smiling... It had been the first expression he had seen on that frozen face since he had awakened in the medical unit, had Avon freed, and informed him that no one was to blame for the fiasco in the tracking gallery. He had told Avon that he was free to leave, but Blake would welcome his assistance if he chose to stay. He had hoped that Avon could see the unspoken invitation to return to his bed and to his heart.

Avon had retorted in what seemed his usual manner, accusing Blake of manipulation, of stupidity, of gross negligence. Blake had argued back and he thought the matter settled when Avon agreed to stay at least until the computer systems were 'up to standard'. Knowing Avon's perfectionism, Blake had thought that would allow enough time for them to slowly relearn the coping mechanisms that had kept them working together on the Liberator even during their worst quarrels.

Only Avon had refused to do anything except work on the computers. He hadn't even wanted to talk with his own crew. The day he finished with the computers he left Blake a message on them. It was frightening in its twisted logic. He hadn't been able to bear the guilt, even though Blake had tried to make him realise that it was all forgiven, and understood. Blake knew what stress and fear did. He knew that Avon hadn't wanted to kill him. Blake had lost count of the good people who had died because of him but he used the guilt to goad himself into making their sacrifices worthwhile. Avon couldn't manage that. All Avon could think of was atonement with his own pain and suffering. That was fortunate in a way. If Avon hadn't chosen the lingering agony of three low-velocity projectiles in the gut, he would have died before anything could be done.

So they kept him sedated while his body healed, while Blake searched for someone who might be able to heal the scarred mind. You couldn't exactly call it luck, when every rebel cell throughout the known worlds was searching, but Avalon had delivered Carnell, along with a warning that he had been one of the Federation's top psychostrategists.

Carnell was charming and sleek as a well-fed carnivore. Life was a game to him and outwitting intelligent people his prime pleasure. He had gladly accepted the problem and been diligent at interviewing Orac (always under constant watch) and everyone who had interacted with Avon.

After two weeks Carnell had appeared in Blake's quarters, dramatically posed as always and outrageously flirting, as always. It had long since ceased to amuse Blake. With his impeccable self-preservation instincts, Carnell had become serious and carefully outlined his plan for Avon's 'reconstruction'. According to him, Avon was a closet romantic. If they could devise a sufficiently romantic, yet non-lethal, method of suffering for Blake's sake Avon would forgive himself. Carnell suggested allowing Avon to be captured and tortured in Blake's stead. He projected only a twelve percent chance of permanent damage before he could be rescued.

Blake had refused of course. Carnell had given him another canary-eating grin, and went on to outline his second proposal (which Blake assumed was actually the first proposal, strategically presented to look more palatable than Blake betraying Avon to the Federation).

Blake hated it, hated the drawn-out sadism of the very idea. Seven years of self-abnegation, of sacrifice and self-induced slavery of the proudest man he'd ever known? Carnell had agreed that it would be kinder to let Avon die now, in his sleep. And he'd grinned, because while he was studying Avon, he'd been studying Blake, and he knew Blake would rather cut off his right arm than kill Avon. Even if it was kinder.

So Blake went along with the plan. Fresh from the medical unit, Avon was installed in his bare monk-like cell, and awakened to the sight of Blake standing over him, stone-faced and impassive, like a statue of Justice.

He could still remember what he'd said, word for word, one year and almost two days ago.

"Avon, you owe me and you're not getting out of it that cheaply. From now on, you'll be seen and not heard. You won't touch, or be touched, by anyone. You'll do as you're told, exactly as you're told. You'll have nothing except what I choose to give you. You'll be nothing except what I choose. Go to the kitchen now and get fed, then report to Ops to await today's assignment." Blake had turned and walked out of the room.

He had gone around the nearest corner of the corridor and turned back to watch, holding his breath. Avon appeared in the doorway, still shaky. His face was totally expressionless as he clung to the doorframe for a moment. Then he straightened and turned towards the kitchen, not towards the exit, as Blake had feared. Avon had accepted the terms of the contract. At least Blake was safe from the fear of Avon's suicide.

But it was a high price to pay. Day after day Avon appeared and meekly took his punishment. He hadn't even asked if it would ever end. Hadn't apparently expected an end, despite the lying promises of the book wherein virtue is rewarded and the evil are suitably punished.

Avon's penance would be over in six years and a little over five days. Blake's would continue. The whole mess was, after all, entirely Blake's fault, from beginning to end. He had taken Avon and remoulded him to his heart's desire and then abandoned his love, knowing that Avon needed more of Blake than he could justify diverting from the Cause. He picked up the book, then put it down again on his bedside table. There was no happy ending for Blake's role in the story.

"I made you fly into the sun." Blake sighed and lay down again in his cold, lonely bed. "And I can never admit it and ask forgiveness." He turned and looked at the dark-eyed Prince on the cover of the book. He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the lips of the man riding the white stallion. "Goodnight, my prince."


End file.
